31
West
Todaywastheday.
Bronx and I were going to see our mother for the first time in ten years.
She wanted to meet at a fancy restaurant downtown–somewhere Dad would've gone for an important business meeting. If she wanted to impress us by throwing her husband's money around, that was on her. I'd happily order the most expensive thing on the menu, eat two bites, and walk right out the door.
"You okay, man?" Bronx asked as we pulled into the parking lot. He at least tried to dress the part–wearing a light blue button-up shirt and navy slacks. I was wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, and leather boots. I topped it off with a backwards cap and my eyebrow ring. Mom would hate it.
"Let's just get this over with.”
We got out of the car and walked up to the hostess. "We're meeting Rosalie Mor–Aldridge," Bronx corrected. The hostess consulted her tablet and nodded her blonde head before we followed her back through the restaurant.
It was stuffier than any place we ever went to. The tables had pristine white tablecloths and fresh flower arrangements. The waiters were dressed like freaking penguins, and every patron wore a suit or dress. All except me.
Once we got to the table, I was stunned. Mom's once-brown hair was now platinum blonde, cut into one of those sleek short hairstyles. Her face and lips unnaturally plump.
"My boys." She stood from her chair and wrapped Bronx in a hug
I pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down, browsing the menu, ignoring Mom and the guy sitting next to her. He wore a suit and had blonde hair slicked back with a gallon of hair gel. He wasyoung. I was expecting some old guy with a beer gut and yellow teeth.
"Boys, this is my husband Tate. Your step-father." Tate flashed his million-dollar smile at us.
"Nice to meet you," said Bronx. I looked back down at my menu trying to find what cost the most.
"I've heard a lot about you two," Tate said.
I dropped my menu. "Really? What exactly have you heard about us? BecauseRosaliedoesn't know shit about us. She left when we were kids, so I'mdyingto know what you've heard."
"Well, I uh, ehem, I know you're into cars and you have a gym. Bronx, you like computers and technology," Tate said slowly. Poor guy had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.
"That's interesting. Where did you hear all thismother? You must've gotten your information somewhere to be able to spread it around."
Mom gulped her wine, taking half the glass with one swig. Good, she was nervous.
"I–I talk to your father on occasion."
"You do?" Bronx asked.
"Not a lot, but just to check in and see how things are."
Dad never mentioned that little snippet of information. The asshole kept his lips sealed, protecting his wretch of an ex. How dare he give her information about us?
"How things are..." I tapped my water glass with the back of my nail. "How things are...well I'll tell you,mother, things are great for us. We see Dad maybe two or three times a month, and the rest of the time we're trying to keep ourselves together. I totaled a car last year and ended up in the hospital. Bronx snorted some bad coke and ended up on some chick's bathroom floor. I found him and thought he wasdead. Oh, and our mom decided to leave us in the care of an absent father. I guess you could say things are going pretty well." I took the wine glass that was in front of Tate and downed the contents, slamming the glass back down once I was finished.
"Are we ready to order?" The waiter asked as everyone stared at me in awe.
"Yes, my brother and I will both be having the Kobe steak and one of each side," I said as I ripped Bronx's menu from his hand and gave them both to the waiter.
Mom and Tate ordered their food–salad and halibut–much lighter choices than mine considering it wasn't even eleven o'clock in the morning.
"I know you're mad at me, West," Mom said softly.
"Furious, actually. The only reason I'm even in your presence is for him," I thumbed at Bronx. "You're not worth my breath. I'm going to sit here and be quiet and wait for my $200 steak."
Tate looked like he wanted to say something but he schooled his face. Good choice, buddy.